


a poison in my mind

by tristesses



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celebrities, Drug Abuse, F/F, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Spanking, Victim Blaming, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: Regina's going to lose her cool at the rate Luce is carrying on.





	a poison in my mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyvernwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvernwood/gifts).



> Title snagged from the song [Candy Coated Suicide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTcehtnfPGg) by Night Club.

She spills out of the doorway and into Regina's arms, trembling and overheated, her dress a riot of color and her face streaked with glitter. She's the sexiest thing Regina's ever seen. Regina tilts her head up to meet her gaze; the girl's huge green eyes have pupils the size of dinner plates and her expression is the dazed half-grin of someone who's too fucked up to talk. 

Regina sighs and begins to haul Lucie the Jewel—also known as Lucy Cosgrove, known to Regina as Luce—out of the club and into the car, shielding her from the paparazzi with one arm, tucking Luce against her chest as she guides her steps. Luce gives a drunken giggle as Regina manhandles her into the Mercedes, her hand pawing ineffectually at Regina's arm.

"What're you…" she says and trails off when she discovers the texture of the leather car seats. Regina slides in behind her and shuts the door firmly; it locks automatically, and she taps the partition between the backseat and driver's seat.

"Roll it up, please," she orders the driver, who does as asked. Luce is known for liking her privacy. Well, it's a badly-kept secret that _Regina_ is known for liking Luce to have privacy; Luce herself probably wouldn't give a fuck right now if she was splayed out naked for the Daily Vice (and isn't that a pretty mental image, Regina thinks before she can stop herself).

But when Luce sobers up, she sure as hell will care. She'll thank Regina later.

Regina eyes Luce, sprawled next to her, taking up three-quarters of the seat. Her teal-blonde wig is slightly askew, its lace front crinkled. Smeared makeup, lipstick smudged like she's been kissing someone—but Regina knows that's not what it's from. Just the natural progression of the party. Regina'd been watching the whole time, lurking at the edge of the VIP booth, close enough to touch Luce.

But still so far away.

There are some things she's not allowed to touch.

Most of the time.

It's quiet in the Mercedes, Luce staring off in a daze, lips moving silently as she strokes the leather seat, wasted out of her mind. Her dress is velvet, not a very typical choice for this type of club—too hot, not very fashionable—but it's her favorite, and the stark black looks good against her pale skin, especially with the triangular cutouts at the side, showing off the twisting vines of her tattoo. Her skirt's hiked up almost to her hip, revealing an expanse of thigh. Regina looks at it. She licks her lips.

There's no one here. The privacy partition is up, Luce is totally out of it, and only Regina would ever know.

She said it would only happen once. But that was a while ago. And it's been more than once.

Shifting in the seat, Regina puts an arm around Luce and pulls her close, tucking her under one arm. Luce murmurs happily and nuzzles against her shoulder; Regina's heart skips a beat. She squeezes Luce's shoulders once and Luce settles down.

Carefully, Regina slides her finger underneath the hem of Luce's skirt. Her heartbeat is thudding in her chest; she's done this a dozen times, but each time it feels just as illicit and reckless as the first. Luce's skin is warm, blood running hot like a fever. Her head lolls to look at Regina.

"Hey," she says, but it's not the first time she's talked during this, and she never remembers.

"Shh," Regina says, and gently pushes Luce's legs apart.

Usually she starts off with Luce's top—touches her breasts, fondles her a little, daydreams about having enough time and space to suck on her nipple—but Luce's dress is too confining for that tonight, and the ride to the hotel too short. So instead Regina will have this—rubbing her finger up and down the crotch of Luce's flimsy panties, teasing out the place that makes her breath go wobbly and drawing little circles around it until Luce twitches and whimpers. Fuck, but she wants to yank Luce's panties off and bury her face in her pussy.

The rhythm of the car changes; they're pulling up to the hotel. Quickly, Regina leans back and pulls Luce's skirt down to something approximating an appropriate length. Luce makes a confused noise and slurs, "Gina?"

God. She looks so helpless and frankly quite fuckable, slumped there in the car like that. Regina doesn't know how much longer she can hold back.

* * *

Another stop on the tour. Another club, another car, another night where Regina feels like crawling out of her skin with desire when she looks at Luce so vulnerable and half-naked in front of her.

But this is different. Regina can tell. There's something about the pulse of the night that makes Regina feel strange, grimy and dirty and aggressive, not like herself. Like she might make a mistake tonight. Like she might do it on purpose.

Luce passes out in the car, so Regina carries her bridal-style into the hotel room. It's ridiculously decorated, ornate as the Vatican with a fucking circular bed and a mirror on the ceiling like they're in a porno. It's expensive as hell and it reeks of self-conscious irony. Luce loves it. Regina—well. It's private, and that's what matters.

She slides the bellman a fat tip and says, "No interruptions, please."

One of the nice things that comes with being tall and solid with a concealed carry permit is an air of authority no one will countermand in a hurry. The bellman takes the money—it's a lot, enough to keep him quiet—and says, "Yes ma'am."

Back in the room. Regina closes the door behind her, listening for the click of the lock, and flips the deadbolt before turning to look at Luce, lying on the bed.

She's a jumble of long legs, dark hair and brilliantly green scarves, her outfit tonight mostly consisting of strips of fabric covering up the important bits—easy enough to remove, Regina thinks, depending on how flimsy it is. Might even be able to remove it with just her hands. Might be able to tear it off.  
There's a part of her that knows she shouldn't. Morally, it's not right; Luce trusts her, maybe more than most of her so-called friends, and Regina knows she wouldn't want this. She's straight, for one thing—and even if she wasn't, Regina knows she wouldn't be her type. Not fun enough.

But what are the consequences?

Luce is, and Regina hates to say it, a known drug addict and a total fucking mess. Regina's got a great reputation in the industry: reliable and professional. No one would believe Luce if she said—what, that her bodyguard raped her? Her _female_ bodyguard?

And Luce might not even wake up. She never remembers anyway.

Slowly, Regina goes to the bed. She's running through arguments in her head, but she knows she's already made the decision. It's like months of stolen trysts have snowballed into this moment, tonight, when she's kneeling beside the bed and sliding Luce's high heel off her foot, setting it gently on the floor. Luce's ankle is slim in her hand, her toenails painted a murky glimmering purple. Regina presses a kiss against the arch of her foot and feels a thrill in her gut. 

She removes the other shoe, slides her hands up Luce's smooth legs. The green scarves criss-cross over her groin and cup her breasts, and are designed to billow fetchingly when she's moving; now they lie limp across her body. Regina stands and circles around the bed to kneel beside Luce, watching her angular face; her eyes are flickering underneath her closed lids and her mouth is moving. She's dreaming. Regina hopes they're good dreams.

She touches Luce's lips, those full, luscious lips, dips her finger inside Luce's mouth, touches her tongue. Then she traces a line down Luce's jaw, down the column of her throat, and hooks her finger in the neckline of her top.

It does rip away easily, as it happens.

Luce's breasts are ripe and pert, small enough to go without a bra. Regina cups one, her breath coming short. She's done as much in the cars before, but it's different here, in a hotel, like a lover, even if Luce isn't fully conscious. She rubs her finger over Luce's nipple.

Luce moans. It takes Regina a minute to realize there are words in that moan.

"Wait, no, what?" Luce mumbles, her eyes fluttering open, batting limply at Regina's hand.

Bodyguards have to rely on instinct and training rather than reasoning out every move they make. Regina moves swiftly when she swings a leg over Luce's body to straddle her hips and pins her down hard by the wrists.

Luce comes alive with a vengeance, her eyes going wide and wild, her entire body straining against Regina's grip—but she's petite and her workouts focus more on cardio than weight training; she's never taken a single self-defense class. Her loss. Regina should make her clients take them, to prevent people like Regina from happening to them.

"Shh," Regina soothes, ignoring the sick twist in her stomach; the decision's been made, it was made a long time ago, there's nothing she can do to change it—"Shh, it's all right, Luce, just lay back—"

"No, no, what are you doing?" Luce bucks her hips, which Regina rides out easily, and writhes, which only has the effect of making her look pretty and flushed, pinned underneath Regina.

"I'm making you feel good. Don't you want to feel good?"

"I—"

"Trust me, Luce."

"I…"

Luce's voice falls silent as Regina leans forward and takes her nipple in her mouth, lapping at it with her tongue, grazing it lightly with her teeth. Her body reacts the way it always does, back arching a little, goosebumps breaking out on her arms; Luce likes her nipples played with. 

"Good girl," Regina says.

"I don't wanna," Luce says blearily.

"It's all right," Regina repeats, and loosens her grip on Luce's wrists, then, once she doesn't resist, lets go. "Let me take care of you."

She eases off Luce's hips to a kneeling position between her legs, parting them wide. The green scarves tear away easily from here, too. Luce isn't wearing anything beneath them, and her waxed pussy is exposed bare for Regina to look at—and touch, and taste—at her leisure. She's a little wet, the moisture glistening at her entrance. Regina's felt it before after toying with her nipples. Luce really likes having them played with.

"No," Luce says, and tries to close her legs. Regina forces them open. It's not hard. "Gina, please."

"Stop saying that," Regina says, and winces at the bite in her voice. "This is going to happen."

"No!"

Luce probably thinks she's being pretty slick when she shoves Regina with her foot and leaps off the bed, but she has drug-addled reflexes and Regina catches her by the arm and drags her back on the bed. Fury flares inside her, and Regina's almost surprised by how potent it is.

"How dare you—get back here!"

They wrestle for a moment, and then Regina hits her, slapping her face so hard her head snaps back and she's tossed against the bed. She lays there in a heap for a moment, stunned—she's probably never been hit before. Regina grabs her and pulls her across her lap, ass in the air, fist knotted in her long black hair.

"You're going to pay for that," Regina says. She can feel her pulse in her eyeballs, she's so aware of every part of her body.

"I'll scream," Luce shoots back.

"Try it," Regina snaps.

Luce does.

No one comes. Not when the first smack hits Luce's bare ass, not when Luce screams out "No!" Not when Regina has to flip her on her stomach and put a knee on her back to keep her in place while she spanks her. Not when Regina says, contemptuous, as she slides her finger against Luce's wet pussy, "Oh right, you don't like this at all," and definitely not when Luce's screams devolve into sobbing.

That money was well-spent.

Luce's ass and thighs are covered in red handprints by the time Regina is done with her. She flips her over and tosses her on her back on the bed. Luce goes, her tear-streaked face terrified.

"What do you want?" she asks immediately. "I have money. I'll give you anything. Just stop."

"I told you I was going to make you feel good," Regina replies. "I'm not going to stop until that happens."

Luce covers her face with her hands and doesn't resist when Regina pushes her legs apart and tugs her hips towards the edge of the bed, going down on her knees.

Her pussy is soaking wet; she'd liked the spanking, loved it even. Maybe she was only pretending to resist this whole time. Maybe she was just embarrassed, or closeted, or—it doesn't matter. Her narrative doesn't matter. Only Regina's.

Regina slides her tongue between Luce's lower lips, lapping up the liquid there, sucking gently on her folds, swirling her tongue around her clit. She buries her face in Luce's pussy, letting it drip all over her, licking and sucking until Luce's hands are clenching in the sheets and her thighs are clamping down around Regina's head.

When Luce's orgasm has thoroughly shaken her, Regina draws away and stands up. Luce rolls over and curls into a ball, hiding her face.

"Leave," Luce shouts. "Just leave!"

Regina shrugs and goes to clean up before unlocking the deadbolt and taking her place outside the door. She still has her own key to the room, of course; she could go back in at any time. She could go in and take off her own clothes and pin Luce down and make her watch while Regina got herself off. Sit on her face and feel her squirm underneath her. God, the possibilities are endless.

And there's still seventeen stops on the tour to go.


End file.
